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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



A. WHITE SONG. 
and a BLA.CK ONE 



By JOSEPH S. COTTER 



LOUISVILLE, KY. 

THE BRADLEY & GILBERT CO. 
1909 



0H5, 






Copyright, 1S98-1909, by 
Joseph S. Cottee. 



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Cl.A 244598 
AU3 7 1909 






WHAT ENGLISH AND AMERICAN CRITICS 
THINK OF JOSEPH S. COTTER'S POEMS. 



About "Caleb, the Degenerate." A blank verse play 
in four acts. ' From the Poet Laureate of England. 

"Swihfo.rd Old Manor, 

Ashford,' Kent." 

"Dear Sir: '^ . 

"Accept my best thanks for your kmdness in sendmg 
me a copy of 'Caleb, the Degenerate.' I have perused it 
with extreme interest 'and appreciation. It affords yet 
further evidence of the latent capacity of your long-mal- 
treated race for mental development. 

"Believe me, with every good wish, yours faithfully, 

ALFRED AUSTIN." 

From the Jewish Author, Israel Zangwill: 

"5 Elm Tree Rd., St. John's Wood, London. 
"Dear Sir: I beg to thank you for 'Caleb, the Degen- 
erate.' I do not profess to understand it all, but I desire 
to express my appreciation of the passages of true poetry 
in which you exoress the aspirations of the Negro race 
for salvation by labor. 

Yours in brotherlv love, 

ISRAEL ZANGWILL." 

From the New York Dramatic Mirror: 

"Joseph S. Cotter is one of the few American Negroes 
who have turned their hands to the making of serious 
Hterature. He is the principal of a ward school in Louis- 
ville, and he owes his education and his position solely to 
his own efforts. A play from sut^ha man demands atten- 
tion, particularly since the author has chosen to write of 
his own people and of subjects that ;lie close to his heart 

The play brings into sharp tontrast the ideas of 

the cultivated Negroes of the period,- and the mental atti- 
tude of the depraved Negroes. .....;. .It is a unique and 

interesting addition to the dramatic literature of America. 



About the "Sequel to the Pied Piper of Hamelin " and 
other verse: 

From the South's Poet, Madison Cawein, Esq.: 
"My Dear Mr. Cotter: 

"I read with a great deal of pleasure the various 
poems you left with me the other day, especially the 
'Sequel to the Pied Piper of Hamelin,' which, to say the 
least, is most ingenious verse. 

"With best wishes for your future success, I am. 
Very truly yours, 

MADISON CAWEIN." 

From the editor of The Strand Magazine, New York: 

"Dear Sir: Many thanks for sending me your 'Sequel 

to The Pied Piper of Hamelin,' which I have read with 

keen delight. It is exQellent in every way and ably sustains 

the true Browning style. 

Very truly yours, 

F. A. JONES, 
Editor Strand Magazine." 

From the late Paul Lawrence Dunbar in the Indianap- 
olis World: 

"Mr. Cotter writes in a variety of measures with great 
ease and beauty. He has already made a name for himself 
through his contributions to the Louisville Courier-Journal 
and the race press." 

From Charles J. O. Malley, the Irish American poet: 
"Paul Lawrence Dunbar, perhaps, displays more of a 
poet's stock-in-trade, blue skies, bird-songs, brooks, roses, 
green grass; Cotter, we incline to think, soberer thought, 
deeper philosophy and certainly a clearer spiritual insight. 
Occasionally, too, he has a graphic. Burns-like side-glance 
into realities that is startling. Thus he asserts: 
'Lift up mankind as high's you will, 
You'll find them mostly lackeys still, 
Who live to act and act to drill 

Themselves into 
Such sycophants as gladly fill 
Shame's rendezvous.' 
"Of one thing we feel assured, Joseph Cotter is now 
doing work which eventually will win him a safe place in 
the literature of his country." 



A "WHITE SONG.— Contents 



My South 11-12 

"Marse" Henry Wattersou 12 

Grant and L.ee 13 

Col. Bennett H. Young to the North 13-14 

Unele Remus to Massa Joel 14 

President AVilliam M'Kinley 15 

The Birth of American Song 15-lG 

The Confederate Veteran and the Old Time Darky 16 

Bishop Thomas U. Dudley IT 

The Book's Creed 18-19 

William Lloyd Garrison 19-20 

Gavin H. Cochran, The Children's Friend. . 20-21 

Gen. Cassius M. Clay 21 

As It Is 22-23 

Algernon Charles Swinburne 23-24 

Col. W. C. P. Breckinridge 24 

The Teacher Pre-Eminent 25 

The Child 25 

The Old Pedagogue's Welcome to the New 25 

Truth . ~ 25 

Delay and Truth 26 

The Little Child That Leads 26 

Chicago 26-27 

Thomas Mock 27-28 

To President Taft's Young Son, Master Charlie 28-29 

Sequel to the "Pied Piper of Hamelin" • .29-35 



#t BL^CK SON&— Contents 



Dr. Booker T. Wasliiuj^ton to the National Negro Busi- 
ness League 38 

Tuskegee 38-39 

Ned's Psalm of Life for the Negro 39-40 

The Negro's Chi-istmas Prayer 40-42 

The Old Negro Teaeher to the New 42-44 

The Negro Child and the Story Book 44-45 

The Negro's Kducatioual Creed 46 

The Loafing Negro 48 

The Don't-Care Negro 47 

Negro Love Song 48 

The Negro's Nevv Year Prayer 48-49 

Rivalry 49-50 

Honey, Whut's You Askin'? 50-51 

To the Memory of Mrs. Sallie Broivn 51 

Lazy Sam 52 

The Vicious Negro 52-53 

Dem Phillupeeners 53-54 

I'se Jes' er Little Nigger . , 55 

Big Ike and Little Ike. . • 55-57 

The Christmas Tree 57-59 

New Year Resolutions 59-61 

Reporting the Sermon 61-63 



fc WHITE SONG. 



DEDlC#tTlON 



Dedicated to the following lovers of 
both white and black humanity : 
Hon. Henry Watterson, 
Bishop Charles Edward Woodcock, 
Col. Bennett H. Young, 
Prof. E. H. Mark and 
Mr. Robert E. Woods. 



MY SOUTH. 

{To Gavin H. Cochran, Esq.) 

Men said thy hopes were buried in thy needs, 
They pitied Death for wooing thee, my South ; 

They now behold in thee a life that leads 

Through genius quickened at the cannon's mouth. 

Thy idle strength, when pitted 'gainst thy fate. 
Renewed the mansion, vivified the farm, 

Kept timid hearts from growing desolate 

By teaching valor through a missing arm. 

Thou seest millions lurking in thy hills, 
Thou seest comfort peeping from thy soil. 

Thou knowest now that he alone fulfills 

Self's highest aim who keeps in league with toil. 

Thou earnest heirship to all elder worth, 
Thou winnest guerdon of all times to be ; 

Thou boldest up thy wealth to all the earth. 
There comes reply: ''Alas, we did not see." 

Above the hand whose mission is to smite, 

Beyond the tongue that galls that it may snare. 

Thou standest forth, peaked ever in the light 
Of self-evolving self that cries: ''Beware." 

Earth's farthest bounds shall know thee as thou art. 

Thy humblest sons make spoil of thy increase ; 
Our country, searching for its patriot heart, 

Shall find it hid between thy love and peace. 

Go star these ever in the public eye ; 

Go wed these ever to the public mind ; 
Go ever teach that sin and lethargy 

Will leave a people shrunken, halt and blind. 

11 



I would behold in thee world-conquering ken, 
Would fain be dazzled by thy steady flame ; 

Would cry aloud : "Thy women and thy men 

Weave life a robe that puts past dreams to 
shame." 



"MARSE" HENRY WATTERSON. 

Who makes a law may force a means to curse, 
Who puts it forth may blight the universe ; 
For what is man that he should say to man : 
"Do thus and so, or feel the scourge and ban?" 

Who builds a tower of crumbling theories 
Must list his Babel in its mongrel keys ; 
For truth is onward, while a guess but hears 
Its name re-echoed in a thousand years. 

Who dares to whisper that his God and he 
Are all-in-all of aristocracy, 
Proves him a tyrant with a tyrant's power 
And slays that tyrant in his boasting hour. 

Nay, not of these is he of pregnant phrase, 
Nay, not of these is he of toil-won bays. 
Socratic spirit and Platonic pen 
Win him first heirship in the ranks of men. 

He sees as clearly as the Magi saw 

That love is living, and that life is law. 

He knows as fully as the prophets knew 

Faith in man's struggles makes the strength of two. 

My South that suffers and my South that bears 
A triple measure of the Nation's cares, 
Use but one weapon, and thy battle's won — 
The love and faith and poise of Watterson. 

12 



GRANT AND LEE. 

The South's the sin? The North's the glory? 
Laugh out of court the hackneyed story. 
The sin took root in the nation's heart. 
And North and South played a dual part. 

The North and the South wore a cheek of shame, 
Till a life of woe wrought an earth of flame. 
And who were the heroes? All who fell, 
Whether North or South, in the nation's hell. 

And who were the heroes? Great souls who fed 
The nation's maw with the nation's dead 
Till the nation's blood slew the nation's curse. 
And made man free as the universe. 

Neither Grant of the North nor Lee of the South 
Shall link his name with the cannon's mouth. 
Neither Lee of the South nor Grant of the North 
Shall stand accused when the blame goes forth. 

In the South's warm heart, on the North's just 

tongue, 
A dual epic of peace is sung 

With regret for the bond and hope for the free. 
And a God-like love for Grant and Lee. 



COL. BENNETT H. YOUNG, CONFEDERATE 
VETERAN, TO THE NORTH. 

The Northerners have often censured us. 
And we of Southern blood have held in scorn 
Their manhood's value and their motive's aim ; 

13 



But slaying faith heals not our country's wound. 
This broader day, upon this border line, 
Should pulse anew our nation's severed heart. 
And hail the hand that clutches North and South. 
And hail the tongue that choruses the two, 
And hail the thought that draws our feet together. 
And hail the deed that makes us one forever. 



UNCLE REMUS TO MASSA JOEL. 

Listen, Massa Joel ; 

I'se er callin' ter you ; 
Callin' in de sunlight, 

Callin' in de dew, 
Callin' whar you uster be. 

An' callin' whar you ain't. 
'Specks de Lawd dun called you blessed. 

An' de angels calls you saint. 

Heah me, Massa Joel ; 

I'se er mournin' fer you ; 
Mournin' when de day is old, 

Mournin' when it's new, 
Mournin' whar you uster sing. 

An' whar you uster pray. 
'Specks de worl' is full ob mournin', 

But de heabens, dey is gay. 

Meet me, Massa Joel; 

Fse er comin' ter you ; 
Comin' wid er load ob sin 

Fer de sinner's due; 
Comin' whar I sho' kin borrer 

Er little loan ob grace. 
'Specks de Lawd gwine call us brudders 

When He sees us face ter face. 



14 



PRESIDENT WILLIAM M'KINLEY. 

Blessed art thou. Fate linked thee with her sons, 
Ye form the trinity of martyred ones; 
A nation's praise is jealous of its grief, 
Therefore thy glory's day cannot be brief. 

So poorly schooled in littleness wast thou 

No party stamped its ethics on thy brow. 

So future-sighted was thy leadership 

Earth's farthest bounds hailed it with welcome lip. 

Thy life work was to lift men far above 

Mere selfishness to a pure country love. 

Thou didst become, dwarfed not by creed or clan, 

A modern miracle, a nation's man. 

The good of yesterday we have unsought, 
To-day lives in to-morrow's generous thought ; 
So the fanatic's tongue, the assassin's knife 
Can find no way to chill a nation's life. 



THE BIRTH OF AMERICAN SONG. 

So long, O, Hermit Muse, so long 
Didst thou preside o'er British song 
Men came to think it grievous wrong 

To roam elsewhere, 
And take the rugged Western throng 

Into thy care. 

True Song, like selfishness and pride, 
Is to the human race allied; 
And, how soe'er it be decried. 

Will spring amain, 
And in its turn be beautified 

By joy and pain. 

15 



So, circumscribing thy swift feet 
With their abundance of conceit, 
They sternly held it most unmeet 

For thee to stray ; 
But, caged within their dim retreat, 

Shouldst dwell for aye. 

They forged on envy's anvil bands 
To keep thy strong and affluent hands 
From scattering throughout the lands 

Song's jubilee. 
Thou saidst: "Each great soul understands 

Its liberty." 
Straightway their envy's force was spent; 
Straightway toil left embellishment; 
Straightway soul -rifts and thought were blent 

Straightway the birth 
Of Song whose own importance sent 

It through the earth. 



THE CONFEDERATE VETERAN AND THE 
OLD-TIME DARKY. 

I seed him on de corner dar 
Er-lookin' lak he's gwine ter war. 
I wondered ef he thought it sin 
Ter fight dem battles ober ergin. 

De way he greeted de passers-by 
Showed me de kindness in his eye. 
De way he listened ter my woes 
Tuk all de fight outen his clones. 

16 



BISHOP THOMAS U. DUDLEY. 

A force was he in the thoroughfare, 

A light where gloom abode, 
A prophet-seer, whose Godlike care 

Made precious the human load. 

Ever the heart of trustful youth 

Kept his faith's longings real ; 
Ever the gleam of a truer truth 

Led on his fair ideal. 

His brother's need was the Master's call, . 

And his was his brother's tear, 
And his the word or alms for all. 

And his the Master's cheer. 

A word for man is a word for God, 

However blind chance doth play; 
He saw this truth turn the chastening rod 

Into life for the common clay. 

What message of truth would you have us bear, 

O, seer, as we journey along? 
"I would have you lessen the whole world's care, 

Be glad, and so be strong. 

"Since human aims flaw human creeds 

That narrow race to clan 
Find God in universal needs. 

If each would be a man. 

"Our darkening wisdom may not show 

Where flares the Eternal Dawn, 
But this we know — if aught we know — 

They who live here live on." 

17 



THE BOOK^S CREED. 

Reader, listen ere we go, 

I will furnish line and page ; 
You must bring a soul aglow 

And an eye that scans the age. 

I am but a shadow sent. 

Telling of a shape that's gone; 
I am just an instrument 

All mankind may play upon. 

If you would behold the shape, 

You must carve it all alone. 
I, as shadow, will be crepe 

On your door till you are grown. 

All my myriad silent keys 

Are responsive to the touch 
That has lived the mysteries 

Former masters knew as such. 

I am but a skeleton. 

Flesh and blood and soul and speech 
Were the property of one — 

Now the property of each. 

If you see a Godlike eye. 

Give it not an ancient name. 
Would you stamp a wanton lie 

On the helmet of your fame? 

If you hear a charming tongue. 

Do not think it from the dead. 
This old world proclaims it young 

Through your heart and through your head. 

18 



If I am a ghastly find, 

You are poor beyond compare — 
You of empty heart and mind, 

Dweller in a world of air. 

You are dead to all the Then, 

You are dead to all the Now, 
If you hold that former men 

Wore the garland for your brow. 

Time and tide were theirs to brave, 
Time and tide are yours to stem. 

Bow not o'er their open grave 
Till you drop your diadem. 

Honor all who strove and wrought, 
Even to their tears and groans ; 

But slay not your honest thought 

Through your reverence for their bones. 

Reader, listen ere we part. 

Search to know and know to read; 
And, by owning brain and heart. 

You will live this simple creed. 



WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. 

His country seared its conscience through its gain, 
And had not wisdom to behold the loss. 

It held God partner in the hellish stain, 
And saw Christ dying on a racial cross. 

What unto it the shackled fellow-man, 

Whose plea was mockery, and whose groans were 
mirth? 

19 



Its boasted creed was : "He should rule who can 
Make prey of highest heaven and dupe of earth." 

From out this mass of century-tutored wrong 
A man stood God-like, and his voice rang true. 

His soul was sentry to the dallying throng, 
His thought was watchword to the gallant few. 

He saw not as his fellow-beings saw ; 

He would not misname greed expediency. 
He found no color in the nation's law, 

And scorned to meet it in its liberty. 

He saw his duty in his neighbor's cause, 

And died that he might rise up strong and free- 

A creature subject to the highest laws, 
And master of a God-like destiny. 

The thunder of a million armed feet, 
Reverberating till the land was stirred, 

Was but the tension of his great heart-beat. 
The distant echo of his spoken word. 

He speaks again : ''Such as would miss the rod 

That ever chastens insufficiency, 
Must purge their lives and make them fit for God, 

Must train their liberty and make it free." 



GAVIN H. COCHRAN, THE CHILDREN'S 
FRIEND. 

He felt the child-heart throb beside his own, 
And question of its lot by right divine. 

His answer was : "Thou shalt not ask alone ; 
I, too, will claim all things that be are thine." 

SO 



He knew the child-thought in its wanderings, 
Its timid ventures and its scattered might, 

And gave his years to find the force that brings 
Through childhood's struggles manhood's crown- 



light. 



He saw that child-life on its winding slope 
Must gaze a-back or scan the heights above 

As teachers see in it the wide world's hope. 
And God's true symbol of his matchless love. 



GEN. CASSIUS M. CLAY. 

"Give me an heir," the Century plead, 

"With the brain of a man and the will of a god; 

With a soul that will flash with the word that is said, 
And a hand that will strike, 'though the heavens 
nod. 

"When the storm blows not, and the way is clear. 

And man is to man as star to star. 
Let the sage come forth with his thought-bred fear. 

And plans that are meek as the grass blades are. 

"When soul meets soul and disdains to hate. 
When thought meets thought and clashes not. 

The priest may sweetly, sternly prate 
Of a saintly way and a Godless lot. 

"When w^eal must lessen the cry of woe, 

And blood must sanction the will of heaven. 

My heir must conquer the foremost foe ; 
To slay, faith-spurred, is the age's leaven." 

So the Century hurled thee, a living flame, 
To blaze thy way to the heart of man. 

Now, at its end, thou art a name 

That shines wherever greatness can. 

21 



AS IT IS. 

With a rope of glass I am bound to time. 

Its strength is the measure of life. 
I move. It cuts. Stern Law says: "Mine," 

And my Soul moans : . "Strife ! Strife ! Strife !" 

A weakling I. God's prophets say 

All share in His goodness still. 
He speaks. I hear. Life acts. I slay. 

Now whose is the slaying will ? 

A weakling I. My brother is halt 

And stands in my destined path. 
I pass. He dies for his faultless fault. 

Now whose is the slaying wrath? 

A weakling I. My brother is strong 

And stands in my destined path. 
He yields it not. I tarry long 

As many a pilgrim hath. 

On, and I fall bv my brother's sword, 

Back, and I die through his death, 
I hold my ground with never a word, 

A begging God for a breath. 

The air I breathe comes over the dead, 

The light of the sword is mine, 
The stronger man has a prayer in his head 

That says : "God, prosper thine." 

I blunder about and know not how. 

I fall and know not when. 
The stronger man has kept his vow, 

And God has kept his ken. 

22' 



The corpse that rots, the strong man there, 

And my self-slain self are one. 
So man has fared. So man must fare 

Till his little day be done. 

Perchance foul worms in God's sunlight 
May house in my unhoused bones. 

Perchance God's wrath in a world of night 
May measure my dead Soul's groans. 

With a rope of glass I am bound to time. 

Its strength is the measure of life. 
"Frail man is mine. All law is mine," 

Says God. My Soul, whence strife? 



ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 

All earth is a poet. 

All nature doth know it. 

Each firefly doth show it, 

Each frost-work doth rhyme. 
Poor man who the fool is, 
And prone as the pool is, 
May yet learn God's rule is : 

All prose is part crime. 

The dust that we tread in, 
The swirls we are sped in. 
The throes we are wed in. 

Were dust, dust and dust. 
If out of God's treasure 
There came not a measure 
Of rhythmical pleasure 

In sibilant trust. 

^3 



Thy gift was a yearning 
That paradised learning, 
And ended in turning 

All seasons to Junes 
Through death that caresses, 
Through hatred that blesses, 
And love that distresses, 

And words that are tunes. 

A Milton may ghoul us, 

A Shakespeare may rule us, 

A Wordsworth may school us, 

A Tennyson cheer ; 
But thine is the glory, 
Star-sprung from the hoary. 
Flame-decadent story 

Of the munificent ear. 



COL. W. C. P. BRECKINRIDGE. 

Great in the riches the world-brain has wroughl", 

Great in the gilding of a candid thought. 

Great in the knitting of the headless throng, 

Great in the music that outrivals song. 

Great in his striving for his cherished clan, 

Great in his welcome to his fellow-man, 

Great in the working that is sacrifice, 

Great in the longing that proclaims the Christ, 

He has left us a heritage, mothered of Pain, 

To be hoarded by mankind and given to mankind 



24 



THE TEACHER PRE-EMINENT. 

To test Himself God spoke the heavens unfurled; 
To please Himself He formed this nether world; 
To warn the world He sanctified the Preacher; 
To save the whole He called the inspired Teacher. 



THE CHILD. 

It is a story that it cannot tell. 

It sees a point, and then it sees it not. 
Behold the only human miracle — 

The Teacher's leading it to grasp the plot. 

rt is a jewel lost in its own worth; 

The search is aimless, and the loss is twain. 
The Teacher's absence, and a puzzled earth ; 

The Teacher's touch, and all is found again. 



THE OLD PEDAGOGUE'S WELCOME TO 
THE NEW. 

I welcome ye, fine masters of today; 

Move in your track and renovate and save. 
I am so wedded to the good old way 

Your theories were fitter o'er my grave. 



TRUTH. 

Truth is the unmixed coin God issues out ; 

His wisdom mints it for life's tutoring; 
It is the antidote for fear and doubt; 

And soothes man with omnipotence's ring. 

25 



DELAY AND TRUTH. 

Delay in anger bit the sphere of truth, 
And, in so doing, broke his wisdom tooth: 
Therefore, it is, when truth comes rolling by, 
Delay looks not, cowed by the memory. 



THE LITTLE CHILD THAT LEADS. 

("A little child shall lead them.") 

Our earth-girt souls grow faint and gaunt and 
hollow. 

And more and more unblessed our jarring creeds, 
Because we fail to humbly, wisely follow 

The little child that leads. 
Our thoughts lack courage and our words lack 
meaning. 

And less and less we value noble deeds 
Until we are at one with Christ's esteeming 

The little child that leads. 
Toil-deepened truth is ever clearer, dearer, 

All life is holier for its common needs, 
As we in brotherly thought and act draw nearer 

The little child that leads. 



CHICAGO. 

You meet Chicago ere you meet it ; 
You greet Chicago ere you greet it. 

You wonder but to wonder 
How life is life and death together, 
How man and beast and work and weather 

Are blundering without a blunder. 

26 



You see Chicago, if you see it, 

With sphere-bound eyes that wholly free it 

From forceless force's commanding. 
You see its greatness throb in centers; 
You see the doom of him who enters, 

A-coining hope for understanding. 

Chicago woos time's active hour 
And turns its ashes into power 

That makes to-day to-morrow, 
Quickened with all life's stress compresses. 
Lightened with all life's forethought blesses, 

And burdened with a sorrow's sorrow. 



THOMAS MOCK. 

O, plain man, plain man, double manned, 
Through love of home and love of peace, 

And love that opes a clinched hand 
And hastens sorrow's sure surcease — 

Thy plainness charmed me to the end. 
My neighbor-friend. 

O, faithful son who gladly stood 

A guard at the parental door. 
And let naught in or out that would 

Not brace its portals more and more. 
Thy sonship spurred me to the end. 
My neighbor-friend. 

O, neighbor, always neighborly, 
And dowered with a gift that leads 

The neighbor-eye to quickly see 

A neighbor's plight, a neighbor's needs. 

Thy neighbor-spirit knew no end, 
My neighbor-friend. 

27 



O, spirit touched by childhood's woe, 
O, spirit moved by childhood's glee, 

O, spirit that did gladly go 
Unto thy death for charity, 

Thy aim shall lead me to the end. 
My neighbor-friend. 

The man who finds his native worth, 
And holds it in life's sun to leaven 

Is great enough to sweeten earth 
And good enough to merit heaven. 

This thought did cheer thee to the end, 
My neighbor-friend. 



To President Taft's Young Son, Master Charlie, On 
Sending Him a Copy of "The Sequel to the 
Pied Piper of Hamelin." 

Master Charlie, read my story 
Of the Piper in his glory. 

And bethink you how his striped. 
Ancient vestments looped and dangled 
From his limbs that crooked and spranglod. 

As he piped, piped, piped. 

Master Charlie, see the city, 
Odd and quaint as oldest ditty, 

And bethink you, little man, 
How the children laughed and whistled 
Through the streets, by deeds epistled. 

As they ran, ran, ran. 

Master Charlie, see the people 
Grave and grim as church's steeple. 
As they reached the magic hill, 

28 



And bethink you how they wound it 
Time and time until they found it 
To be still, still, still. 

Master Charlie, see the Council 
That refused to pay an ounce till 

Every rat was out of sight ; 
But I'm telling you the story 
Of the Piper in his glory. 

As I write, write, write. 



SEQUEL TO THE "PIED PIPER OF 
HAMELIN." 

{To Thomas G. Watkins, Esq.) 

The last sweet notes the piper blew 

Were heard by the people far and wide ; 

And one by one and two by two 
They flocked to the mountain-side. 

Some came, of course, intensely sad, 
And some came looking fiercely mad, 
And some came singing solemn hymns, 
And some came showing shapely limbs, 
And some came bearing the tops of yews, 
And some came wearing wooden shoes. 
And some came saying what they would do, 
And some came praying (and loudly too), 
And all for what? Can you not infer? 
A-searching and lurching for the Pied Piper, 
And the boys and girls he had taken away. 
And all were ready now to pay 
Any amount that he should say. 

It seems that just relentless Fate 
Ransacks her ever ample store, 



And issues out the roughest ore 
To all who basely hesitate. 

The people stood at the mountain-side, 
And listened to hear the merry strain 

That gathered them from far and wide, 
But they listened all in vain. 

And if they could have heard his music. 

Why some of them were really too sick 

To tell just what his notes were saying, 

Or know it was the piper playing. 

Their heads were many, l3ut their hearts were one ; 
And so the thoughts that came and went 
Served only to kindle their discontent 

Into a flame ere the set of sun. 

Some thought that they could open wide 
Another portal in the mountain-side 
And then that they could pass right through 
And find the children and piper, too. 

At last a stalwart man arose 

And spoke as one who would interpose : 

*'Rouse up, good sirs, like gallant people, 

And quake no longer with consternation ; 
But ring the bells from every steeple, 

And summon the mayor and corporation." 

The bells rang out as never before 

Within that ancient city; 
They seemed to tell it o'er and o'er — 

To tell that tale of pity. 
And steadily the angry people 
Stood gazing at each lofty steeple. 

The stalwart man cried out again : 
"Death's servant is procrastination; 

30 



Your grief and tears are all in vain, 

Go, summon the mayor and corporation." 

The people started in twos and threes 
To seek the mayor and corporation, 

And found them all upon their knees. 
Imploring expiation. 

The mayor winked and the mayor blinked; 

And the councilmen, they listened. 
The mayor's eyes gazed at the skies, 

And the councilmen's eyes, they glistened. 

"You are all to blame," the people cried, 

With a look of detestation, 
*'You know full well that you have lied. 

And sold our rising nation. 

"As enemies we hold you all. 

Despite your loud lamenting; 
Upon your recreant heads shall fall 

The burden of repenting. 
"Through you the little ones we nursed 

Were taken we don't know where to ; 
"Through you our city has been cursed — 

Deny it if you dare to. 

"And you shall know that parleying 

With that outlandish piper 
Shall be to you as deep a sting 

As that of any viper." 
They mayor bowed low, and then said, "Oh !" 

And the councilmen said, "What is it?" 
The mayor grew red and huskily said: 

"I do not like this visit." 
The mayor's teeth clattered, and the mayor's tongue 
chattered, 

31 



And the councilmen's did also ; 
The mayor floundered, and the mayor wondered 
How a brave man's voice could fall so. 

The mayor did sup from no golden cup 

That he could drown his grief in ; 
The councilmen saw with deepest awe 

Nothing to find relief in. 
The mayor looked straight at the massive gate 

(And it was a look of pity), 
Then turned his face to leave the place. 

And bid farewell to the city. 

The councilmen turned, and their red cheeks burned, 

As the bells rang out in the steeple ; 
And they heard the beat of a thousand feet, 

And saw the angry people. 
Who came by dozens and scores that way. 
Intent upon their human prey. 
They hadn't a single word to say. 
But, oh, it was a woeful day 
For the mayor whose hair was turning gray. 
Some seized the mayor by the throat 

As roughly as they could do. 
And tore the buttons off his coat 

To show him what they would do 
Unless he eased their mental strain 
By finding the boys and girls again. 
And some arrested the corporation. 

And poured into their ears 
So free a strain of denunciation 

It roused their latest fears. 
Till one and all wished through and through 
The piper would come and take them too. 
And then they marched through that ancient city, 

With the mayor right before them, 
And the corporation who sang a ditty 



That threw a madness o'er them, 
And stirred their ire so it crept out 
And put their better thoughts to rout. 

"Let's drive them into the Weser waters," 

Some cried out angrily 
"Unless they find our sons and daughters. 

And bring them back this way." 
"Agreed ! agreed !" said high and low, 
"Right into the waters they shall go !" 

They marched them down to the river's brink. 

And roughly drove them in ; 
But before the shortest one could sink 

An inch above his chin 
They heard a muffled deafening note. 
Such as might come from a lion's throat. 
And all the motly crowd grew mute. 
For it was a blast from the piper's flute. 

He stood on the edge of Koppleberg hill 
And blew till the feet of the people grew still, 
And those of the mayor and corporation 
Began to move as by incantation. 
He took the flute from his honeyed lips 
And pressed it between his finger tips. 
And straightway a vapor began to rise 
That tickled the nose and blinded the eyes ; 
And when the people could see again 
They looked for their victims all in vain. 
And all about it they ever knew 
Was that the piper had drawn from view. 
And the mayor and corporation too. 
How often is the tide of sin 

Averted ere it reaches us 

By ways just as mysterious 
As those in the case of Hamelin! 



33 



The people went to their homes as mute 
As since has been the piper's flute, 
And never was known to even dispute, 

Among themselves or others, 
As to how such things could come about. 
Or whether or not they had a doubt 
Concerning how they would turn out 

For fathers, sons, or mothers. 

The years passed by, as years will do. 

When trouble is the master. 
And always strives to bring to view 

A new and worse disaster; 
And Sorrow, like a sorcerer, 

Spread out her melancholy pall 

So that its folds enveloped all, 
And each became her worshipper. 
And not a single child was born 

Through all the years thereafter; 
If words sprang from the lips of scorn 

None came from those of laughter. 
So hour by hour, and day by day, 
The city's inmates passed away. 
And left but one, then old and gray. 
And that was he the piper left 

That fatal day behind him, 
Of whatsoe'er he was bereft, 

He never strove to find him. 
But wisely let the prowler go 

Where'er his whim might take him, 
And kiss his magic flute and blow 

For all who might forsake him. 

Ats^ alas, there came a time 

Too sad for even the saddest rhyme, 

When this one mortal became immortal, 

And flitted away through the heavenly portal. 

34 



Without a soul outside or in 
Stood poor deserted Hamelin, 
Devoid for once of human sin. 

You know a message went to Rat-land 

By that strong rat that swam the Weser ; 
And lo ! a race of rats was at hand 

Outnumbering all the hosts of Caesar. 
They came by ones and twos and threes, 
And then in larger companies — 
As single fours and double scores 

And hundreds up to fifty, 

And thousands up to twenty-five, 
And all seemed more and more alive, 

And hence were double thrifty. 

They swarmed into the highest towers, 
And loitered in the fairest bowers, 
And sat down where the mayor sat, 
And also in his Sunday hat; 
And gnawed revengefully thereat. 
With rats for mayor and rats for people, 
With rats in the cellar and rats in the steeple, 
With rats without and rats within. 
Stood poor, deserted Hamelin. 



A BLftCK SON& 



DEDICATION 



Dedicated to the following lovers of both 
black and white humanity: 

Dr. Booker T. Washington, 
Rector Leroy Ferguson, 
Dr. C. H. Parrish, 
Alexander Morris, Esq., 
Rev. Thomas F. Blue and 
Prof. John H. Jackson. 



DR. BOOKER T. WASHINGTON TO THE 

NATIONAL NEGRO BUSINESS 

LEAGUE. 

'Tis strange indeed to hear us plead 

For selling and for buying 
When yesterday we said: "Away 

With all good things but dying." 

The world's ago, and we're agog 

To have our first brief inning; 
So let's away through surge and fog 

However slight the winning. 

What deeds have sprung from plow and pick ! 

What bank-rolls from tomatoes ! 
No dainty crop of rhetoric 

Can match 'one of potatoes. 

Ye orators of point and pith, 

Who force the world to heed you, 
What skeletons you'll journey with 

Ere it is forced to feed you. 

A little gold won't mar our grace, 

A little ease our glory. 
This world's a better biding place 

When money clinks its story. 



TUSKEGEE. 

Tuskegee blazes in the nation's eye ; 
Tuskegee lifts plain labor to the sky ; 
Tuskegee grounds and towers prosperity. 

39 



Tuskegee started as an uncouth name; 
Tuskegee stood a race's scorching blame ; 
Tuskegee leads that race to deathless fame. 

Tuskegee sees the merit in a clod; 

Tuskegee meets false worth with spur and rod ; 

Tuskegee lifts the Negro nearer God. 

Tuskegee trains the hand to train the head; 
Tuskegee lives the laws the ancients read ; 
Tuskegee saves the living that are dead. 

Tuskegee wins all foemen, one by one; 
Tliskegee stars the work that is begun ; 
Tuskegee's other name is Washington ! 



NED'S PSALM OF LIFE FOR THE NEGRO. 

Dis is Ned dat am er-speakin', 

Wid no wuds dat's cute an' fine. 
Dis is Ned dat am er-seekin' 

Light fur dis heah race o' mine. 

I don' know as I'se er prophit — 

Ef I is, I prophersy — 
Smart folks, don' you dar ter scoflF it : 

Dis race feelings gwine ter die. 

'Tain't er thing dat has er color — 

Tse gwine lib ter see it ain't. 
Hit goes *long wid black an' yeller, 

Kase you's not er wukin' saint. 

When you wuks so dat de folks is 
Boun' ter lib by whut you does, 

40 



All dey feelin's an' dey jokes is 
Fur de man dat once you wuz. 

Folks will 'cept you when you takes 'em 

By supplyin' all dey needs; 
Dey will paint you when you makes 'em 

Jes' de color o' yo' deeds. 

Atter while dey will be treatin' 

You de bery bes' dey can, 
An' you'll nebber 'gret de meetin' 

Wid yo' brudder feller man. 

Yes, dey's feelin' 'twixt de races, 
An' hit's gwine ter las' until 

We jes' wuks ourselves ter places 
Udder folks has got ter fill. 

Dis is Ned dat am er-speakin' — 

Smart folks, don' you dar ter scorn- — 

I'se er-prayin' an' er-seekin' 
Ways ter let dis race be born. 

I'se got faith 'nuff in de Marster 
Fur ter know He'll do His part; 

Ef we stomps out dire disarster 
Wid er wukin' brain an' heart. 



THE NEGRO'S CHRISTMAS PRAYER. 

On this. Thy natal day, O God, 
Make me forget each ancient care 

That erstwhile loomed where'er I trod, 
And robbed me of thy generous fare. 

41 



Frail man is great — and doubly great — 

So long as he can gaze a-down 
The path that wrecked his sole estate 

And speak it just without a frown. 

It must be true that man is wise 

When he from out the shattered past 

Plucks keys to ope the paradise 
That holds his future hard and fast. 

This is Thy spirit, earthly housed, 
This is Thy vision, earthly kenned. 

With these at hand I am aroused 
To chase life's phantom to the end. 

I gaze upon my fellow man, 

I think that I am such as he. 
O, God, if Thou hast made a span 

To bridge his greater self to me, 

I do not ask the reason why, 

I do not ask the logic's course ; 
I turn me from an alien sky 

To battle with an alien's force. 

If shadows are the substance here. 

If God to man is naught to God, 
Hope looks a-back, faith sinks in fear. 

And vengeance sways Heaven's chastening rod. 

A little space, a little breath, . 

I ask no more. I would not take 
A feather from the wings of Death 

To trick with Life for my poor sake. 

I do not ask for vision clear 

Enough to pierce the future's maze, 

42 



I only ask a heart sincere, 

And sense enough to crown my days. 

Now, grant, O, God, Thy servant's prayer, 
^ Grant it as Thou dost wisely see ; 
Then, as the seasons roll, my fare 
Shall take the name of charity. 



THE OLD NEGRO TEACHER TO THE NEW. 

I has bin er backwoods teacher 

In my day. 
I has bin er jackleg preacher 

In er way. 
I has hustled frum de jump, 
I has 'rated frum de stump 
An' I has full many er bump 

Frum de fray. 

I has I'arned ter fret an' clamer 

Ober slights. 
I has I'arned ter read de grammer 

Ob my rights. 
I has also I'arned ter go 
'Bout dis Tarnin' sorter slow; 
An* Fse proud ter lib ter know 

Dese delights. 

Ask me questions 'bout my knowin' 

In de books? 
Ask de rooster 'bout his crowin' 

While he cooks. 
I jes' called de chillens in. 
An' I sed you mus'n't sin, 
An' straightway de change begin 

In dey looks. 

43 



Dis you say wuz no beginnin* 

Ob er school? 
Let me tell you all dat sinnin' 

Meks de fool. 
When our fools thinks dey is bigger 
Kase dey Tarns ter read an' figger 
Jes' es well go pull er trigger 

Till dey's cool. 



'Course I had no way ter teach 'em 

How ter parse, 
An' I had no way ter reach 'em 

Up ter Mars. 
But dat blueback spellin' book 
An' de strap upon de hook 
An' my daily business look 

Left what? Scars? 



Better gib de boys er flayin' 

Now an' den 
Dan ter see 'em daily strayin' 

Ter de "pen." 
Fer de youngsters dat I sees 
Libin' 'bout heah at dey ease 
Won't be wuf two black-eye peas 

In de en'. 



You has bin ter school an' college 

I suppose. 
An' you has er lot ob knowledge 

Dat you knows. 
Will you let de few dat's tryin' 
Jine de many dat is dyin' 
An' so heah ten millun cryin' 

Ob dey woes? 

44 



Younger brudders, you is leadin' 

Us ter-day. 
May we heah no fur-fetched pleadin' 

Dat mought slay; 
Fer you knows dat we mus' be 
Whar de white man's eye kin see 
An' his cash is scattered free 

In our way. 



THE NEGRO CHILD AND THE STORY BOOK 

See it settin' dar alone, 

Gently swayin' to an' fro, 
Readin' in an undertone 

^Bout de things of long ago? 

See its eyes a-fillin' up? 

Heah it giggle now an' den? 
It is sippin' frum de cup 

Dat has nourished mighty men. 

See dat frown upon its brow? 

See dat curl upon its lip? 
It is fightin' frum de prow 

Of an ancient battleship. 

It is winnin' wid its frien'. 

It is losin' to its foes. 
It has quitted ere de en', 

An' is lost in polar snows. 

Bless its soul, it's free ag'in, 

An^ is journeyin' afar. 
All creation is a-spin 

An' its kerridge is er star. 

45 



See it still as tho' asleep? 

Heah it sigh a heavy sigh? 
It is thinkin' 'bout de sheep 

Dat'll be parted by-an'-by. 

See dat smile creep frimi its month 

Till it kivers up its face? 
It is picturin' de South 

As a lastin' bidin' place. 

When it looks frum left to right 
An' is scratchin' of its head, 

Jes' be sure it wants de light 
For to see it safe in bed. 

When its thoughts are true as go!', 
An' its ways are cute as wit, 

It has read what Remus tol', 
It has lived what Aesop writ. 

When true rhythm sways its heart, 
An' a jingle primes its tongue, 

It is Dunbar's subtle art 

Frum a joyous scabbard flung. 

When its spirit dares to dare. 

An' its darin' dares to win. 
It is thrivin' on de fare ^ 

Of de story tol' widin. 

Let us buil' roun' de story-book. 
Let us buil' for de story-child, 

Lest our worl' space shrink to a nook, 
An' our lives grow gross and wild. 



46 



THE NEGRO'S EDUCATIONAL CREED. 

The Negro simply asks the chance to think, 
To wed his thinking unto willing hands, 

And th.ereby prove himself a steadfast link, 
In the sure chain of progress through the lands. 

He does not ask to loiter and complain 

While others turn their life blood into worth. 

He holds that this would be the one foul stain 
On the escutcheon of this brave old earth. 

He does not ask to clog the wheels of State 
And write his color on the Nation's Creed. 

He asks an humble freedman's estimate. 
And time to grow ere he essavs to lead. 



THE LOAFING NEGRO. 

Whut's use wukin' when you kin 
Libe lak white folks 'out dey care? 

Eat lak dem an' dress up in 

Same fine clo'es dey useter wear? 

Chicken leg an' good hambone, 
Homemade bread an' pasty pie, 

Yo' gal brings ter you erlone : 
No use wukin' till you die. 

When you's full jes' walk erbout 
Lak de worl' wuz made fer you, 

An' hit could not run widout 
You libed lak you wants ter do. 

Matters not whut cums er goes, 
Matters not who's up er down, 

All you need's er suit ob clo'es 
An' er chance ter do de town. 



47 



THE DON'T-CARE NEGRO. 

Neber min' what's in your cran'um 
So your collar's high an' true. 

Neber min' what's in your pocket 
So de blackin's on your shoe. 

Neber min' who keeps you comp'ny 
So he halfs up what he's tuk. 

Neber min' what way you's gwine 
So you's gwine away frum wuk. 

Neber min' de race's troubles 

So you profits by dem all. 
Neber min' your leaders' stumblin' 

So you he'ps to mak' dem fall. 

Neber min' what's true to-morrow 
So you libes a dream to-day. 

Neber min' what tax is levied 
So it's not on craps or play. 

Neber min' how hard you labors 

So you does it to de en' 
Dat de judge is boun' to sen' you 

An' your record to de "pen." 

Neber min' your manhood's risin' 
So you habe a way to stay it. 

Neber min' folks' good opinion 
So you habe a way to slay it. 

Neber min' man's why an' wharfo' 

So de worl' is big an' roun'. 
Neber min' whar next you's gwine to 

So you's six foot under groun'. 

48 



NEGRO LOVE SONG. 

I lobes your hands, gal ; yes I do. 

(Fse gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) 
I lobes your earnings thro' an' thro'. 

(I'se gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) 
Now, heah de truf. I'se mos' nigh broke; 
I wants ter take you fer my yoke; 

So let's go wed ter-morro'. 

Now, don't look shy, an' don't say no. 

(I'se gwine ter wed ter-morro'.) 
I hope you don't expects er sho' 

When we two weds ter-morro'. 
I needs er licends — you knows I do — 
I'll borrow de price ob de same frum you, 

An' den we weds ter-morro'. 

How pay you back? In de reg'ler way. 

When you becomes my honey 
You'll habe myself fer de princ'pal pay, 

An' my faults fer de interes' money. 
Dat suits you well? Dis cash is right. 
So we two weds ter-morro' night, 

An' you wuks all de ter-morro's. 



THE NEGRO'S NEW YEAR PRAYER. 

A backward glance, a lion's daring, 
A long regret, a sage's bearing. 
Are the sure steps to onward faring. 

To-morrow's luck's to-day's devising, 
To-day's to-morrow's ghost uprising, 
The future's promise emphasizing. 

49 



New Year we reckon thus : Intruder, 
The past taught us and left us shrewder, 
Wilt thou teach us and leave us ruder? 

An age's zeal may make what naught is, 

An age's fruit may stop ere aught is, 

An age's faith may wane when it sought is. 

Not so its gentleness. It measures 
The God free-bound in man. It leasures 
His restlessness into soul-treasures. 

Grant but this boon. New Year, and set us 
Above an erring past. There let us 
Match stars with faults, lest God forget us. 



RIVALRY. 

John an' Mandy's prancin' 'long 

Lak dey's good an' rich ; 
All her fine clo'es fit up wrong, 

Eb'ry rag an' stitch. 
Each one's spahkin' de udder so, 
Cyarn't tell how dey lobe will grow. 
She mout marry my beau dat wuz, 
Don' keer ef she does. 

John an' Mandy's 'proachin' neah 

Eak dey means it all ; 
He's er whisp'rin' so's I heah 

De sweet wo'ds dat fall. 
Now ef Mandy knowed ernuff. 
An' she warn't so big an' rufT, 
I'd gibe her my beau dat wuz ; 
Trounce me ef I does. 



50 



John an' Mandy's standin' still, 
His eyes fixed in hers; 

Seems ter me dey has one will, 
Now dey moufs is burs. 

Each one tells de udder dat 

It knows 'zac^kly whar hit's at; 

I gibe her my beau dat wuz? 

Kill me ef I does. 

John an' Mandy's man an' wife; 

Parson Grim say so. 
He done tied 'em on throo life 

'Till de last trump blow. 
I'se not gwine ter be er fool. 
More big fish is in de pool ; 
I don' miss er beau dat wuz ; 
Bless me ef I does. 



HONEY, WHUT'S YOU ASKIN'? 

I lobes you lak I used ter do? 

Now, honey, whut's you askin'? 
Lobe is er b' ilin' 'twixt us two ; 

So, honey, whut's you askin'? 
I sho' lobes you, an' you lobes me. 
An' we owns lobes dat mus' ergree; 

So, honey, whut's you askin'? 

A crow's foot's creepin' 'bout yo' eyes 
Now, honey, whut's you askin'? 

You know my lobe is blin' an' wise ; 
So, honey, whut's you askin'? 

My lobe lobes yo's an' yo's lobes mine, 

An' bofe lobes lobes es in dey prime ; 
So, honey, whut's you askin'? 

51 



Old age is creepin' on erpace? 

Now, honey, whut's you askin'? 
Yo' soul keeps house widin yo' face ; 

So, honey, whut's you askin'? 
De yeahs is simply chisels to 
Make lastin' my day-dreams ob you ; 

So, good wife, whut's you askin'? 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. SALLIE BROWN. 

God gives man bent of will and scope of vision 
To weave life's earthy threads into a whole ; 

And lest he miss a glimpse of things elysian, 
He gives him woman with her heaven-lit soul. 

Fame may bedazzle him ; alluring power 

May seize a prostrate world and say: *"Tis thine." 

This is but chaff beside his nature's dower, 
Woman, to reassure that life's divine. 

Woman is weak that she may test man's heart. 

Betimes she's strong that she may test his brain. 
In weakness or in strength she plays a part, 

Man's ever-rising worth cannot attain. 

Wise unto knowledge that shall spur the thought. 
Wise unto wisdom that shall sweeten prayer; 

Wise unto God-like insight who has sought 
To star his darkness with a woman's care. 

In life she leads. In death she beckons on 
To higher aims and more completed duty, 

Until her vanished self becomes a dawn, 
Reflecting on his path hope, shrined in beauty. 

52 



LAZY SAM. 

Don' know my name? It's Lazy Sam, 
Proud o' dat name. You bet I am. 
How did I git it? Guess my mammy 
Long time ergo jes' called me Sammy. 

Guess all de folks whut heahed ob it 
Thought me an' dat name wouldn't fit; 
So dey jes' added one whut suits, 
Jes' like de heels does ter de boots. 

How does I manage ter git so fat? 
Yo's mighty 'quisitive ter ax all dat. 
I talks fer wuk an' sleeps ter grow. 
An' eats fer sauce. Now does you know? 

I's mos' nigh tired o' foolin' wid you. 
Folks thinks dat Fse got nuthin' ter do, 
But tell dem whut I is er ain't, 
I'se Lazy Sam. Is you er saint? 

Jes' one word mo'? Well, heah it is: 
You jes' go 'long an' min' yo' biz. 
Be nice an' sweet an' sma't an' ca'm. 
An' I'll look atter dis Lazy Sam. 



THE VICIOUS NEGRO. 

Dere ain't no ^arthly use I hoi' in totin' 'roun' er gun. 
When twenty smells de powder, an' de bullets hits 

but one. 
An' he turns in an' dies befo' de shooter sees de fun. 

53 



I uster tote er gun 'long time, until I Tarned ter - 

know 
Er nigger's nebber in it 'less he makes up all de 

show; 
So twitch 'im till you draws de crowd, den cyarve 

'im high an' low. 

He'll p'int his vengeance at you, but he'll 'preciate 

de fact 
Dat you has sense whut shows you how ter mix up 

blood an' tact, 
So folks will alius 'mind him ob his 'lation ter de act. 

De coon dat dahs ter 'spute wid me until my blood 

runs hot 
I chokes until his tongue crooks up inter er silent 

knot. 
Den ef he's gen'l'man 'nufif ter stan' I cyarves 'im on 

de spot. 

I don' keer fer yo' pow'ful names er whut yo' 'sitions 

'notes, 
I only keers fer bre'sts an' ahrms an' heads an' 'vitin' 

throats. 
So I kin cyarve dem reckless wid dis razah dat I 

totes. 

o 

"DEM PHILLUPEENERS." 

Well, Phillupeeners, how's yo' health? 

I don' ax how's yo' playin', 
I 'specs de angels heahs by stealth 

An' coins it in a sayin'. 
I 'specs dey's plannin' big ovations ; 
I 'specs dey'll send sum invitations 
To all de music-lovin' nations 
To bless you Phillupeeners. 

54 



Jes' heah 'em once, an' afterwerds 

Yo'll heah 'em, heah 'em ever, 
De notes dey plays will come in herds 

An' heah 'em, heah 'em ever. 
Dey '11 fust be best, an' den dey'U flee 
Right on to find de next degree, 
An' still right on until you see 
Music, not Phillupeeners. 

If you would live anudder life 
■ An' still live dis you lives heah, 
If you would turn yo' loss an' strife 

To gains dat always gives heah, 
If you would lose yo' appertite 
Fer all de things dat plagues de sight, 
An' think up straight an' feel upright, 
Jes' heah dem Phillupeeners. 

De white man plays until you dreams 

Yo' life's a kind o' story; 
De white man plays until you seems 

To peep right into glory. 
Dat's good enough. Dis world widout it 
Would go wid mournin' wropped about it, 
But laziness! He jes' cyarn't rout it, 
Like dem brown Phillupeeners. 

Heah's to de music dat you plays 

Upon dem inst'uments, 
Heah's to de music dat you lays 

Up fer yo' own contents. 
Pleah's to yo' sense dat makes yo' luck, 
Heah's to yo' Phillupeener pluck, 
An' heah's good will from Old Kaintuck 
To all you Phillupeeners. 



55 



I'SE JES' ER LITTLE NIGGER. 

I keeps er sharp eye on de folks I sees — 
De big- folks dat habe bo't de bery breeze; 
But why should I be totin' 'long wid dese? 
I'se jes' er little nigger. Dat is all. 

I looks in at de glass an' sees er face 
Dat 'pears ter say: ''De nigger's got er place 
He boun' ter keep." Dat quits me frum de race. 
I'se jes' er little nigger. Dat is all. 

De white boy tug an' wuk an' go th'oo school. 
Ob course he kyarn't erford ter be er fool. 
But why should I be wuk's obleegin' tool? 
I'se jes' er little nigger. Dat is all. 

Don' tell me 'bout de good things ober dere ; 
Fur eb'ry one o' dem is in de air, 
An' neber will be sauce ter my po' fare. 
I'se jes' er little nigger. Dat is all. 

I'se gwine ter habe er good time now, you bets. 
Dis world's not gwine ter owe me eny de'ts. 
I pities all my folks who wuks an' frets. 
I'll be er sho' 'nuff nigger. Dat is all. 



BIG IKE AND LITTLE IKE. 

One mawn ole marse, he say ter me : 
"Ike, whar you bin las' night?" 

"Ole marse," I say, "I climed er tree 
An' drinked till I gits tight. 

Ole marse, I'se Little Ike, you know, 

56 



So Big Ike 'clared he's gwine ter show 

Er little nigger's skeered ter do 

Sum movements he's gwine ter put 'im throo. 

"I clim'ed de tree, ez I sed befo', 

An' Ike, Big Ike, he gaze, 
I drinked er pint ; now Ike he know 

He tumble off ef he sot dat ways 
An' drink dat pint an' brace dat tree. 
An' kick dis legs an' rock lack me. 
Den twis' hisself erroun' dat lim'. 
An' go ter sleep in de breeze erswim. 

''Now, Ike, he shake dat tree an' me. 

An' down I cums wid de lim'. 
An' Ike, he laff till he hed ter see 

Dere warn' no laff in him ; 
Fer me an' de lim' an' de pint wuz dere. 
An' Big Ike's cries, dey fill de air. 
An' me an' de lim' an' de pint — we three 
Jes' press on Ike till he couldn't see." 

Den marse, he says: ''Well, Ike, how's dat?" 

I looks, an' dere stan' Ike ; 
Ike say: "You lies! You'll be er cat 

In de big tree on de pike !" 
I 'splains ter Ike, an' marse say: "Sin!" 
I 'splains ter marse, an' Ike he grin, 
I 'splain ter bof, an' bof dem looks 
My name clean outen de heabenly books. 

Den marse, he says: "Go 'long wid Ike." 

Ike looks, an' den I goes. 
I foun' myself flung ober de pike 

On er lim', jes' erlibe wid woes. 

57 



Ike oberseed. So he hed all cum 
An' bring er fife an' bring er drum. 
Dey kicked up dus', an' pranced an' sung 
Right under de tree-tops whar I hung. 

Ike makes me tell dat lie all ober, 

Ergin an' ergin an' ergin. 
My gal wuz dere. ''You's got no lober?" 

Ike ax wid er sassy grin. 
She shake her haid, den take de han' 
Ob Pete, my ribal. He take her fan, 
An' all prance off wid er look at me 
Dat said: "Grow inter de lim' ob de tree. 



THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 

(To my friend, R. W. Thompson.) 

Heah, ole ooman ! Heah is me, 
Den cum wid yo' Chris'mus tree. 
Heah, ole ooman! Whar's you at? 
Shake de snow offen my hat. 
Stir de fiah an' let it blaze, 
W inter's liabin' techey ways. 
Rub one ear, an' I'll rub tudder ; 
Patience gone, an' don't keer nudder. 

Lak ter miss dis Chris-mus tree. 
All de rich folks dat I see 
Wuz er buyin' at dey ease 
All de playthings an' de trees. 
Last I bo't dis little one ; 
Now our Liz kin habe sum fun. 
Rich folks, dey owns all creation, 
Sabe de po' folks' po' relation. 

58 



Met our naber cumin' 'long 
Wid er tree not wuth er song. 
He wuz braggin' all de while 
'Bout his tree an' 'bout his chile. 
You could lose his tree in dis 
Jes' lak sorrer's lost in bliss; 
An' de chile whut he wuz praisin' 
Won't be wuth de trouble o' raisin' 



Now, de tree is in its place, 

Kiber up our darlin's face. 

Kiber up her hands an' feet, 

Don't her toes look nice an' sweet? 

Musten' let her eben heah 

Ob de good things whut is neah. 

Is my talk er gittin' louder? 

Well, I'se proud an' gittin' prouder. 

B'lieve I'll take her out o' bed. 
An' hoi' up her sleepy haid 
Ter de things up on de tree, 
Co'se she'll not erwake ter see. 
Cum heah, darlin'. Look up dar ! 
Eb'ry playthin' is er star 
Shinin' down on you ter please you. 
Sleepin' still? I b'lieve I'll tease you. 

Tickle all yo' little toes, 
Kiss you on yo' stumpy nose, 
Run my fingers throo yo' haih, 
Loos'nin' all de kinks up dar. 
Rub yo' black face 'g'inst my own 
Till you cries : "Let me erlone." 
Is you 'wake? You is an' sholy 
Looks lak angels whut is holy. 



59 



Eat dis candy an' dis cake. 
Blow dis horn an' keep erwake. 
Take hor ob dis jumpin' jack, 
Scatter 'roun' dis little pack. 
Use dis pencil an' dis slate, 
Wid 'em I'arn ter calkerlate ; 
Kiss yo' doll an' kiss her tresses, 
An' her hat an' all her dresses. 

Sleep ergin? Well, I'se bin mean — 
Meanest dad you you's eber seen. 
Ef you dar's fall out wid me 
I'se gwine rob yo' Christ-mus tree. 
Gwine ter cry? Yo' teahs is sweet, 
Lak de toes whut slits you feet. 
Take dis chile, good wife, an' wrop it 
Warm in bed befo' I whop it. 



NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS. 

I is fifty, more er less, an' it's cuttin' ter my pride 
Not ter know ef I is stationed on de lower er upper 

side, 
But I hopes I'se on de lower wid er gap dat's good 

an' wide. 

I has alluz bin er lober, an' I alluz has bin jilted. 
All de nos I has rece'bed would make er quilt, full 

stuffed an' quilted; 
So my co'tin's but er mem'ry, an' my pride is kinder 

wilted. 

Dese is strokes dat makes de wise men scratch dey 
nakid pates an' wunder, 

60 



Dese is strokes dat men in gin'ral 'fuse ter libe an' 

Stan' up under, 
Dese is strokes dat robs de lightnin' ob de right ter 

owe de thunder. 

Dar is strokes dat is more pow'ful den yo' I'arnin's 

institutions. 
Dey jes' grin's you till you feels lak you's de four 

win's distributions. 
Dey is tryin' ter walk de chalk line ob yo' New Yeah 

resolutions. 

Knowed 'er man who swahed 'fo' gracious he wuz 

gwine ter libe up higher 
Den de swillin' ob' good licker till he kilt de base 

desire ; 
An' he ended full ob whisky 'cross de back log in de 

fiah. 

Knowed er nuther man who sed he would fergibe his 

enemies, 
An' he started out ter do it jes' es happy es you 

please ; 
But he foun' without opponents he could neber be at 

ease. 

Why dis strikin' out at randum,, when dis talk is all 

fer me? 
I has practiced resolutin' on de Ian' an' on de sea 
Till my failures fin's me guilty on de charge ob 

perjury. 

I is sho' my heart is tender, an' I wants ter mend my 

ways. 
I jes' lobes ter heah folks singin', an' I 'oners folks 

dat prays. 
But frum New Yeah resolutin' I is free de res' my 

days. 

61 



'Cause you see I'se tried de ole ones till I'se put 'em 

all ter rout; 
An' ef new ones probed successful dey would leabe 

my niin' in dou't, 
Ef it eber could grow wise enuff ter fin' my new self 

out. 



REPORTING THE SERMON. 

Heahed er sermon tudder night 
Frum de Reb'rent Rastus White. 
You wus dar? Don' I know dat? 
Seed you sportin' yo' new hat. 
Seed you lookin' 'roun' er-bout 
So's ter pick sum feller out, 
Whut wuz bol' er-nuff ter spy on 
De same gal you had yo' eye on. 

Reb'rent Rastus weahs er face 
Dat is alius sayin' grace. 
Reb'rent Rastus' veins ain't blue? 
Don' I know dat well as you? 
An' I know no udder man 
Kin be foun' in all de Ian' 
Whut kin go frum de beginnin' 
Ter de en' ob all yo' sinnin'. 

Reb'rent Rastus tuk er tex', 
Couldn't tell whut would cum nex'? 
Dar you cum er-puttin' in. 
Darky, you speak up ergin 
An' my fist'll fin' er spot 
On yo' jaw an' keep it hot 
Till you I'arn ter know dat knowin' 
Ain't er thing ter be alius showin'. 

62 



Whut's dis worl' er-comin' to 
Ef one cyarn't go right on through 
Wid er speech he's boun' ter make 
'Stid ob stoppin* fer yo' sake? 
Now, I'se gwine ter tell you how — 
(Needn't 'gin to scrape an' bow) 
Reb'rent Rastus sot us thinkin' — 
Take my boot-toe fer dat blinkin' ! 

Yes, he lead us all ter see 
Dis worl's full ob misery, 
An' ter spy de better Ian' — 
Whut you got dar in yo' han'? 
Dat's right, pardner, hoi' it up. 
Ain't you got er glass er cup? 
My taste's alius monstrus frisky 
When I sees Kaintucky whisky. 

Whar's de res' dat speech, you say? 
Brudder Rastus cumin' dis way. 
He kin make it bettern me, 
An, you's boun' ter wait ter see, 
Kase Fse got dis bottle, pard. 
An' I'se gwine ter strike it hard. 
Chunk me, chunk me all you please ter 
I'se got glory heah ter freeze ter. 

Gibe you sum? Jes' wait er bit. 
Maybe I mought habe er fit. 
Long's I keep my common sense 
I'll not put on no pretense. 
I'll jes' drink until I rise 
Ter sum sort ob paradise. 
Rastus cumin'? B'liebe I'll bore him. 
Bar's de empty bottle 'fore him. 



33 



Let us hide heah in dese weeds. 
Rastus, Rastus, show yo' deeds. 
Now he's lookin' on de groun', 
Now he's list'nin' fer sum soun', 
Now he's hid it in his clothes, 
Now he's stuck it ter his nose, 
Now he smacks his lips an' shows dat 
He would like ter know whar mo's at. 

Thoo dat bottle held er drouf 
Rastus, you mus' hoi' yo' mouf. 
Ef you 'spouse de temp'rence cause, 
We's gwine be both jedge an' laws. 
You's wid us? You better be. 
Cum right on an' let us see. 
Bress de Lawd fer dis chance meetin', 
We's dun drunk. Now, let's ter eatin'. 



U 



